


you can tune a guitar but you can't tuna fish

by TANGOCHARLIE



Series: Jack Dalton's School of Infinite Wisdom [7]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Parental Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28921518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TANGOCHARLIE/pseuds/TANGOCHARLIE
Summary: Jack looks for any activity that will keep his appliances safe from a convalescing Mac.Part of the Jack Dalton School of Infinite Wisdom. The other stories in this series are fun but it's not necessary to read them before this one.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Series: Jack Dalton's School of Infinite Wisdom [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644943
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	you can tune a guitar but you can't tuna fish

**Author's Note:**

> As always thanks for reading!

They’ve been benched, the both of them. Jack is grateful that two years in, Patty is still taking the package deal thing seriously. He worried, after some time passed and the exact wording on their employment contracts grew fuzzy she might try to send Mac on a mission without Jack. Or assign Jack to as back up to another team while Mac was busy with a lab assignment or recovering from an injury. 

Like he is now.

It’s not a bad one, not like some that have landed them in a hospital or medical. 

Though any mission where Mac gets injured is a bad one in Jack’s book. 

Especially one where Jack feels he could have prevented it. 

Mac picked the lock of a heavy trunk in the baggage car, while Jack stood guard at the entrance, expecting any resistance to come from the paramilitary unit he identified in the dining car. 

“It’s the hair cuts, the watches, and the shoes,” Jack murmured as they passed the squad of four on their way to the back of the train. “No matter how well they think they’re blending in, that’ll give ‘em away every time.”

Mac glanced over his shoulder, smiling at Jack’s teaching moment. Class in session for the Jack Dalton School of Infinite Wisdom. 

“And everyone knows it, ya know? So you’d think they’d be better. But they all think that it’s not their watch, or shoes, or hair cuts. Theirs aren’t as obvious as some. But they are.”

“Is that why you insist on the fauxhawk?”

“Well, that and I just look damn good with it.” Jack reached forward, wiggling his fingers through the back of Mac’s shaggy hair. “Plus having a partner with a mullet helps as a distraction. No one would expect us to be a pair of spies.”

Mac’s shoulders jerked up towards his ears, shimmying away from the tickle at the back of his neck. “It’s not a mullet. It’s just… longer in the back.”

“So… a mullet.”

“It’s not.” Mac pushed through the door of the compartment, taking a breath as he stepped from one platform to the next.

“Don’t get me wrong, you rock it, but it’s kind of an odd choice. You didn’t even exist in the eighties.” 

Mac shrugged. “There was some overlap. I remember a kid in my kindergarten class had an actual mullet.” 

“That poor kid probably didn’t make that choice himself. You, on the other hand, wake up every day and choose this.”

“I just choose not to change it. You on the other hand make an active choice to put on that big ass wolf ring and leather wrist cuff. Like an actual choice every day.”

“Beowulf is awesome, dude. Don’t diss him,” Jack held up his hand, wiggling the finger on which Beowulf resided, making it shimmer in the light.

The step into the next car, surveying the racks of crates and luggage. 

“I think this is it,” Mac mutters.

It didn’t take long for Mac to identify the correct trunk. Picking the lock when a new rumble, different from the clack against the tracks shook the car. The large sliding door behind him was thrown open. 

Intruders decked in black and tac rappelled into the boxcar. Jack was on them in an instant. Slicing through a rope and tossing the first one back out the door of the compartment before he even set foot inside. 

The next three were more prepared.

It was a blur of fists and Jack’s whoops as he took care of business. Drawing the rest of the team away from Mac.

Jack bellowed in rage and distress when he heard a yelp from Mac. His head snapped around, checking on his partner, just in time to see him tossed from the moving train. Fury burned in Jack’s veins. 

He dispatched the remaining tactical team with extreme prejudice. Secured them and attached a beacon for the DXS clean up crew. Glancing at the trunk, it was opened but didn’t contain the USB port they were sent to retrieve. He paused for a second at the door, readying himself to tuck and roll, hoping that Mac had a chance to do the same and minimize his injuries. 

There’s just no good way to jump from a train. His leather jacket protected him from the brunt of the fall, as did the momentum of rolling, but it still hurt. Groaning, he scrambled to his feet, feeling mostly intact aside from a few abrasions. 

He figured, based on the speed of the train, Mac was thrown a few klicks back and began walking, following the tracks. Eyes scanning the darkness for any signs of his partner. He’d use the flashlight on his phone but somebody took it apart. He can only hope Mac didn’t roll so far that Jack will miss him in the dark. Or wasn’t hurt too badly to keep him from getting up and making his way to Jack. 

That was four days ago, and now, back home, safe and sound, and on medical leave, Mac is crawling the walls.

He spent much of the first day sleeping. Jack waking him for neuro checks and dressing changes. Grumpily answering all the questions Jack threw at him. 

“I’m fine,” Mac muttered before his eyes were open. “You don’t have to keep waking me up.”

“Concussion protocol, hoss,” Jack said, brushing Mac’s hair back from his forehead. 

“It’s been over twenty-four hours,” Mac mumbles, leaning into Jack’s soft touch. A headache still plagues him, his eyes narrowed and squinty against any source of light. Jack’s kept all the blackout curtains pulled, and replaces cool clothes on his neck and the heating pad against his back but the thing that helps the most is Jack's hand in his hair. Fingers soothing against his scalp. 

He’s stuck hiding out at Jack’s apartment. He wasn’t as prepared to disembark the train as Jack. He’d pushed the sleeves of his leather jacket up while working on the lock, leaving his forearms and hands exposed. The skin there, and on his face and neck is raw where it connected with asphalt and gravel. 

Explaining the abrasions, concussion, plus the brace on his sprained knee to Bozer when he was supposed to be at an energy conference… well, he’d rather wait a few days until things healed up. And Bozer wasn’t expecting him back until Sunday night anyway. 

There’s a limited number of projects left for him to do at Jack’s. The last time he convalesced here he fixed the wonky drawers of the kitchen cabinets and replaced all the faucets. And four days in, he’s taken apart as many appliances and electronics as he dares if he wants to keep Jack as a friend. 

He’s reclined on the couch, knee propped up on a pillow, fiddling with the coffeemaker for the third time today. The safest appliance for him to mess with as Jack rarely uses it. 

Jack sighs, considers knocking on his neighbors’ doors and asking if they’ve got any projects for his kid. He peers from the kitchen to the living room, the TV is on low, in hopes Mac might be interested in the documentary playing. Or even fall asleep to the droning voice of the narrator. 

They’ve watched everything from Die Hard to Star Wars to Golden Girls and nothing is holding Mac’s attention. 

And then he has an idea. He frowns, considering the strain it might place on Mac’s broken skin and healing stitches, but he’s not exactly resting his hands like he’s supposed to be anyway and doesn’t think this will hurt the kid any more than fiddling with a screwdriver or picking the box of locks Jack keeps for entertainment. 

Jack rounds the couch and drops onto the coffee table. “Let me see your hands.”

Mac flashes Jack a puzzled, and mostly annoyed look. “What?”

“Hands.”

Mac looks for all the world like he’s going to shove them behind his back protectively. “You already took care of them today.”

“Come on,” Jack holds out his own palms, gesturing for Mac to do the same. “Show me.”

“Why?”

“Just want to see.”

“I’m not like a pet and you have to worry about what I’m chewing on.”

“Ha. Cute. Hands.”

Grumbling, Mac reluctantly extends his arms, placing his hands, palms up in Jack’s.

A row of black stitches marches across his right hand, just below his fingers. Layers of skin scraped from his palms and knuckles. Jack presses against the surrounding tissue, searching for swelling. Feels Mac flinch as he examines them for redness and warmth.

“They hurt?”

Mac shrugs. 

Jack raises an eyebrow, not allowing Mac to get away with the nonanswer.

“They’re sensitive. It’s more annoying than anything else. And so are you.”

“Alright, crabby,” Jack pats Mac’s good knee. “Sit up.” 

It’s Mac’s turn to raise his eyebrow.

Jack stands, tossing a pillow onto the coffee table. “Prop your foot up there,” he instructs, watching expectantly for Mac to obey, which he does with a heavy sigh. 

Then Jack turns, gently lifting one of his guitars that hang on either side of the television off the hook on the wall. 

Mac watches curiously.

“You ever played?”

“No,” Mac shakes his head. “Kinda wanted to but… never did.” Based on Mac's expression, the cautiously curious and hopeful look, Jack can chalk this up for another example of James MacGyver's A plus parenting. Making sure Mac knew science and math but never letting the kid learn something that he deemed frivolous or fun. Though study after study shows the importance of music and art. Jack is glad he's going to correct this now.  


“My pop taught me,” Jack places the guitar in Mac’s lap. “Now, I'll teach you. I had a garage band in high school for a while. Cause we thought it would make us popular with the girls. My sister Jessie is six years older than me and pretended to be a groupie, since no one knew her, to make the girls in our class jealous.”

“Did it work?”

“Got me a date with Chrissy, co-captain of the cheerleading squad,” Jack grins. “The band made us real popular with the girls, for a while. It was fun but we were terrible.”

“Cause you were singing lead?”

“Cause none of us knew what we were doing. I am a karaoke champ in four states.” Jack sits back down on the coffee table, next to Mac’s leg, and reaches under the couch, pulling out a small keyboard. “You were there for two of them.”

“I don’t think they actually have a way of judging that,” Mac plucks at the string, smiling at Jack’s protests. 

“Alright, first things first, when it comes to playing a guitar, you gotta make sure it’s in tune,” Jack says, settling the keyboard on his lap, and turning it on. There’s a buzz of static as it warms up. “Open string, the notes are E, A, D, G, B, E.”

Mac nods, repeating, “E, A, D, G… B… E.”

“I’ve got a little acronym for ya. You’ll like this one, being EOD and all, Eddie Ate Dynamite, Good Bye Eddie.”

“Mnemonic.”

“Yeah, eating dynamite is moronic, we’re not advocating for that. It’s a good way to remember though.”

“No. An acronym, that’s when the initials form a word. A mnemonic is a memory device,” Mac plucks the string again. “Like Never Eat Soggy Waffles.” 

“They won’t be as long as Bozer made them,” Jack grins as Mac laughs and shakes his head. 

“You want to tune up to the note. So turn the peg so it’s way down below the note we’re aiming for, which is...,” Jack gestures. 

“E.”

“Right, good job,” Jack praises and Mac flushes faintly. 

Jack plays it on the keyboard, sustaining it, while Mac plucks the string and turns the peg, listening to the swoop of the note as it reaches up to meet the one Jack is playing. Mac frowns, listening intently.

“Do you hear it?”

“Maybe?”

“Just keep plucking until you hear it,” Jack encourages as the note warbles and then chimes along with the keyboard.

“I think that’s it,” Mac looks up, uncertainty written on his face. 

“Yeah, you’ve got it. Good ear.”

Mac smiles bashfully. “So I just need to carry around a piano with my guitar.”

“You can cheat and get a tuner, but honestly, you would probably find another use for it. Take it apart, MacGyver it into something else, and not be able to use it anyway. Hopefully, not all your strings go out at once and you can tune it to itself,” Jack guides Mac’s hand down the neck of the guitar to the fifth fret. “First string, fifth fret should be the same as the next string open.”

“Okay,” Mac absorbs the information. “So, first string, fifth fret is an A.”

“Yep, and so on, the second string, fifth fret is a D, all the way down until you reach the fourth string. That one’s different. You gotta be on the fourth fret to get it to match the B.” 

Jack beams with pride as Mac makes his way down the stings, finding each note, tuning them to each other. 

“If you don’t have a tuner or a piano to check, how do you know the string you’re using to find the rest of the notes is right?”

“You’ll just kind of know.”

Mac frowns at the nonanswer. He likes facts. Specifics. 

“How do you know which wire to snip when you’re disarming a bomb.”

“That is not a ‘you’ll just kind of know’ situation,” Mac says, lowering his voice into a drawl and repeating Jack’s words.

“Well… either you’ve got it or you don’t,” Jack teases and Mac frowns. “Okay, so how do you know?”

“Studying, learning different bomb signatures, practice.”

“Right, practice. And then you know. You’ll hear it. Feel it. You’ve got a good ear already,” Jack moves to sit on the armrest of the couch, gently positioning Mac’s slightly swollen fingers on the neck and teaching him some simple chords. By the time they stop for the afternoon, Mac is strumming along to the simple three-chord melody of “Bad Moon Rising” as Jack croons. 

“Told ya, hoss, karaoke champ in four states,” Jack brags as Mac stretches out on the couch for a nap. 

Mac yawns, eyes drifting closed as Jack drapes a blanket over him. “I wonder how hard it would be to learn the ukulele.”

Jack blinks. “What?”

"Always wanted one of those too but... you know... wasn't a good use of my time."  
  
Yes, unfortunately, Jack does. And Mac, even after years away from his influence, never thought about just buying one for himself. For fun. Because he wants one. Someday, Jack's gonna punch James MacGyver.

“Think-” yawn, “think ‘Bad Moon-’” yawn, “‘Rising’ would sound really good on a ukulele,” Mac gives a small shrug, snuggling deeper into his pillow, and sighing in contentment when Jack's fingers find their way to his hair again.

“Yeah, I think you're right,” Jack agrees with a soft smile as Mac’s breathing deepens, punctuated with a snuffling snore. He continues stroking Mac’s hair and then his smile deepens. He pulls out his phone and begins researching ukuleles. He might just have an idea of what to get the kid for his birthday this year. If he can wait that long to give it to him.  


He can't wait to see Mac's face when he opens the gift.


End file.
